In This Bowl Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
In This Bowl
In this bowl
In this bowl
Clay and china
I am lost as was
(From birth)
Neither deep, nor wide
And un-precious,
of the kind we call "Treasures"
The trees upside down
Bottom sits the clouds
Varied birds are around
There is me
Ant-tiny and hanging
‘Swimming' I may be
But in fact clinging
Atmosphere, ambient
What the hell!
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: solitude
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4/18/2024 9:26:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
